


I Pray You Find It (On Your Instinct)

by canistakahari



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Begging, Dom/sub, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Restraints, Riding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-01
Updated: 2013-03-01
Packaged: 2017-12-04 00:18:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/704307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/canistakahari/pseuds/canistakahari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes Scott is so patient that even he finds it hard to stick to his own rules. Stiles, however, always finds it difficult. Good thing they both like it that way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Pray You Find It (On Your Instinct)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [daunt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/daunt/gifts), [Rrrowr](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rrrowr/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Release Mechanisms](https://archiveofourown.org/works/693487) by [Rrrowr](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rrrowr/pseuds/Rrrowr). 



> Ro tagged me for more of this, and I tried to get it done in time for Daunt's birthday, but it's a little late. Either way, I hope you enjoy it, ladies. <3

Scott has discovered through extensive hands-on experimentation that Stiles is not the kind of guy that can come without being touched.

 

It’s exactly why Scott does this.

 

Why he’ll take the time to tie Stiles’s hands snug behind his back so he can’t touch himself or touch Scott and then stretch out leisurely on his back while Stiles kneels and balances over his hips until Scott’s dick just nudges his slicked-up hole. 

 

Because no matter what Scott tells Stiles to do or not do, no matter how hard he’s fucked, until Scott chooses to wrap his hand around Stiles’s aching cock and put him out of his frustration and misery, he won’t come.

 

“Stop there,” says Scott, pressing his fingers into the curve of Stiles’s hip. “Don’t move. Good boy. You look so good, just like that.”

 

Stiles is breathing raggedly, his pupils huge as he meets Scott’s gaze. He’s already flushed with arousal, a rash of red along his cheekbones like he’s been running drills, his scent changing as his heartbeat speeds up and his skin warms and prickles with the hot rush of blood and adrenaline.

 

“Good,” repeats Scott, praising absently as he pets Stiles’s trembling flank, soothing the tension building in his thighs.

 

“Scott,” rasps Stiles. He squirms, arm muscles working restlessly against the restraints. He’ll have bruises. Dark blooms spreading beneath pale skin. A fine sheen of sweat breaks out over his body as he struggles and Scott’s mouth floods with saliva at the sharp tang of salt that fills his nose. “Please. _Please_ , can I—”

 

“What do you want?” asks Scott. He rolls his hips up, just a soft thrust, his dick catching Stiles’s loosened rim.

 

Stiles groans, entire body trembling now at being denied. “Please. Can you just—I need—can you just fuck me, _please_ , before I _spontaneously combust,_ oh my _god_!”

 

“It wouldn’t be spontaneous,” says Scott, idly tracing the sharp jut of Stiles’s iliac crest. He gives into the urge to press his fingers into his flesh just hard enough to mark. “Would it.”

 

“Oh my god,” groans Stiles, arching his back with a needy little twist of his hips. “Please. Please just _fuck me_.”

 

“Maybe I don’t feel like it,” says Scott. “But you’re welcome to fuck yourself.”

 

Stiles lets out a desperate wail. “You asshole. You selfish, lazy—”

 

“Watch yourself,” says Scott mildly. “Do you want my dick or not? You wanted me to fuck you, well, _I_ want you to ride me. Are you going to be good for me?”

 

“Yeah,” moans Stiles, voice strained. “ _Yes_ , I—”

 

“Then do it.”

 

With a thick moan, Stiles sinks down onto Scott’s cock. Scott bites his lip and controls the deep, heady urge to just flip Stiles over onto his back and nail him right into the mattress. Instead, he slides his hands down from the curve of Stiles’s hips, cupping the backs of his thighs to support his weight. He’s hot and slick inside, fluttery-soft muscle clenched desperately tight around him like Scott is the only thing keeping him on the ground.

 

When Stiles finally starts to move, it’s with short, stuttering rolls of his hips that reduce him to a jumped-up mess of a human being in a short span of seconds.

 

It’s work, at this point, keeping himself centred, focused on the push and pull of Stiles’s body around him, letting him take what he needs instead of just giving it to him. There’s an itch in his teeth, in his fingertips, that bone-deep, nerve-bright instinct to cage Stiles in, pin him down, bruise and scrape and worry.

 

On another day, he’d let it take over.

 

Right now, though, with Stiles splayed over his thighs, seated firmly, Scott just tucks up his knees and encourages him with shallow thrusts. He pets his sides and murmurs endless gentle praise, watching and listening and tasting as Stiles works himself into a state of frenzied desperation, all warm skin and panting breaths, glassy eyes wide and pleading.

 

It’s knowing that Stiles will do this for as long as Scott wants that makes it sweet.

 

“Are you ready?” asks Scott, when he knows Stiles is close to collapse, when Scott himself can’t really take another moment.

 

“ _Yes_!” cries Stiles, voice choked by a sob. “I want to come, please let me come, I can’t until you—fuck, Scott, please!”

 

He’s been hard from the moment Scott bound his wrists. There’s an angry, deep-purple flush to his untouched cock, curved up against the flat plane of his belly. Scott is on the edge himself, blinking back sweat, muscles taut as he reaches out to touch Stiles, curling his fingers loose around his dick.

 

“Please, _what_? What is it, Stiles? Do you want to come on me?” he asks, giving Stiles a sharp tug. Stiles immediately loses his rhythm and his knees slip apart, a slow downward slide that leaves Scott balls-deep inside him. Scott arches his back up off the mattress reflexively, jostling Stiles.

 

Overwhelmed and full to the brim, Stiles just nods frantically, lips parting on a startled gasp, words scattered. Scott listens to the thrum of his pulse, the delicate beat of his heart, wishes the angle was right so he could press his nose to the bare column of his throat.

 

But it’s more than enough teasing for Stiles. Scott gives him what he wants.

 

Fisting Stiles’s cock firmly, he strokes up and down the shaft, rubbing the pad of his thumb into the slit, tracing the vein with a fingernail. Stiles tenses up, bony knees pinching into Scott’s waist, shuddering like he’s about to fly apart.

 

Then, with a helpless little whimper, Stiles shivers bodily, digging his heels into the mattress as he uses Scott to jerk himself off.

 

Scott’s vision goes spotty as the pressure on his own dick intensifies, sweeping him into the rippling waves of Stiles’s orgasm as he clenches and unclenches with each hard thrust up into Scott’s hand and back down onto his dick. The relentless steady pound of Stiles’s heartbeat is what tugs Scott into his own climax, creeping under his skin and filling his senses, flooding him with Stiles’s scent.

 

When Stiles finally hits his limit and comes, spilling over Scott’s hand and onto his chest, he then bends and folds, crumples limp against Scott with a breathless little sigh, completely and utterly spent.

 

“Good,” says Scott, a little unfocused. “Good boy.” He pats Stiles on the thigh with sticky fingers and settles his other hand in Stiles’s hair.

 

Stiles mumbles something unintelligible, sprawled heavily against Scott like he’s planning to move in and never leave.

 

Scott grins. “Now you can clean me up.”


End file.
